The Dynamic Abattoir
by AryxCuratrix
Summary: "We might live in a Dynamic Abattoir, Riddle, but I know that we'll be safe and sound." "How do you know?" "I know everything, Riddle." "We live in an ever-changing slaughterhouse, and we will, are, the next change." TR/fem!HP A girl who has seen war sought change, and Tom Riddle, a boy very much like her, always had. "Our abattoir looks quite innocent. It's not." fem!Harry


**Blood on Heaven's Door would NEVER be abandoned! Lemme just get that straight. If I get bored of this story, BOHD would be on the move! If I get bored of BOHD, then _this _story would be updated! To let you guys read high quality characters, I would like to ask if I would need to ask a beta for help with anything that concerns this story. Really. I would also love it if I would receive constructive criticism or practically _anything! _Please leave a review, I would love to have some feedback! :3 **

**WARNINGS (for this whole story): TR/fem!HP, Time Travel, confusing plot (would be explained as story progresses) random updates, a bit of all genres except for Western, a bit of coarse language and violence! (There would obviously be more as I continue to write, but idk yet. Heh.)**

**WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: slightly coarse language, confusing plot and hints of Time Travel**

Tom Marvolo Riddle was never one for accidents. In fact, the tall seven year old held himself with grace and strength that rivaled that of a ballerina and a barbarian. Even if he was reading a bloody book, he would never fail to know if a person was near or not. If one were to ask the other orphans in Wool's Orphanage who was the most mature-looking, balanced child in there, the first word to slip from their lips would be, "Riddle."

So, it was a great surprise when Tom Riddle tripped in the not-so-dark darkness. Tom cursed, having not seeing the stone he had just tripped upon. Landing on the ground painfully, Tom swore and picked himself up. Looking around, bewildered, Tom noticed he was all alone in the backyard of Wool's Orphanage.

You see, Tom's mother had died giving birth to him in the dreary building meant for children, when it was anything but. He had not seen his father for his whole life, and Mrs. Cole, the directress of the orphanage, made it very clear that her mother was just a weak, pathetic being who could not stand the pain of labor, and his father a coward. Tom didn't believe most of the words that went flying out of her mouth, but he believed that even though Mrs. Cole screamed that his father was dead, Tom was not an orphan. He knew his father was alive, and made it his life-long mission to find him. 'Till then, he will stay in the orphanage.

Tom was a human of high intellect, skill and looks. Pale skin complimented his dark eyes and hair, which was slightly wavy. His aristocratic features spoke of intelligence, and something lurked beneath those dark brown eyes, something unexplainable. Tom was fawned over by everyone at school, what with his perfect grades and charming smile. He was athletic, also, but most tended to look past that and admire his great mind. He was a good artist, and he drew pictures of people most of the time, animated or not.

But enough of his past life. Tom glared at the offending rock, then grabbed the sketchbook that fell out of his grasp. He returned drawing a child-like face of a five year old, planning to make this boy's facial features sharp and slightly aristocratic. His rough sketch would become a perfect drawing with just the right amount of dedication, he reasoned. His train of thought in the Zone stopped when he realized he had a limp. Damn it all, he inwardly thought, scowling. He sat on a creaky swing, slightly pushing and pulling.

He had barely noticed when another creak joined his swing's. As soon as he finished drawing a rough sketch, he looked up, only to stop himself from jumping and screaming bloody murder. A gun was pointed at his forehead, and a gun spelled out bad news. Bad, _bad _news. Tom's eye twitched. This man had just forced Tom to reduce himself to a much lesser being, being _afraid. _He deserved to pay. This man deserved to hear his own screams. Tom's hand itched to stab him with his own pencil.

"'Ere's what's gonna happen, kid," growled the man in a low voice. "Yer gonna tell me where yer parents are, tell me them names, and I let'cha live. 'Ow's that sound?"

Tom responded by kicking him sharply in the nuts. The guy yelped and dropped to his knees. Tom tried to make a run for it, but his limp was in the way. Cursing his rotten luck, he gasped as a hand encircled his ankle. He felt cool metal press on his skin. He glared at the man, and was about to break the wannabe murderer's neck, when it happened.

A sharp _CRACK! _sounded, and the grip on his ankle loosened. He was pushed away, though not harshly, because only small force was applied. A tiny blur attacked the man as Tom watched with wide eyes. Hey, he may be a smart and a kid who had fallen _very _far, but he was still a freaking kid, and facing death! He calmed himself down and placed an impassive look on his face, observing the black and blue blur that attacked the man. He stood up and grabbed a sharp stick and turned around, but decided to wait a while, because he might wound the little blur if he tried to attack.

When the man shed blood, the blur stopped, and started circling the man. The blur kicked him and sneered. With a wave of the blur's hand, the man was thrown far from the orphanage. He screamed as he was literally thrown by some kind of force. Wow. He almost made it look like a cheap Star Wars rip-off.

Green met brown as black and blue turned.

Tom took a sharp intake of breath as he saw a beautiful girl's face. With sharp, aristocratic features, emerald green eyes, dark raven-black hair that cascaded 'till her waist and porcelain skin, she looked like a kid straight out from a picture perfect... well, picture.

Tom relaxed his facial muscles. "Thank you."

The girl nodded, her baby blue, baggy and torn pajamas now slightly wrinkled. "You are most welcome," she said smoothly. The unspoken _You know you could've done the same thing without that limp _rang in the air, shouting. It was almost deafening. When the girl turned back and started walking out of the orphanage, Tom could only stare back, trying to appear cold.

She stopped, though, her hand resting on the fence. "I shall see you around, Riddle." With that, the small girl jumped on the fence and landed gracefully on all fours. She ran towards north, and Tom could only watch as she slowly turned into a small dot in the distance, before disappearing quickly.

**LINE**

The second time Tom met Blur, as he liked to call her, three months had passed. It was a hot summer morning, and kids were running everywhere in Vistma Square. The orphanage had planned a visit to Vistma Square to "encourage kids to socialize and start being physical". Pfft. To Tom, it sounded like an excuse to buy alcohol from a random guy in the streets... and if you were to look closer in a shady corner not far from where Tom was sitting, you would see Mrs. Cole doing exactly that.

Blur was dressed in a black and white long-sleeved shirt and jeans, which Tom could admit, made her look more good-looking than the last time when she was dressed in almost-rags. She was also carrying a book and a pillow.

_Wait, why is she holding a pillow? _Tom mentally asked.

"Good morning," greeted Tom, inclining his head to show acknowledgement.

"Good morning," Blur replied. She sat down across him, swinging her legs off of the bench's armrests, using her pillow as a backrest. That answered his previous question. She flipped her book open and began reading.

The silence wasn't awkward, it was more of comforting. Minutes ticked by, and both children were just content reading their books, not minding each other's presence. The laughter of children wafted up to their ears as they read. However, it failed to disturb them from the trance they seem to be in. Well, until Blur spoke up.

"What do you call me?" she asked quietly with a raised eyebrow. The taller one of the duo looked up from his book and answered back with a tone just as soft,

"Blur."

Blur nodded as the wind picked up slightly. She smiled serenely and secretly, going back to her book. Tom's lips curled upwards, before he mimicked the girl's actions.

When Tom looked up again, he felt disappointment well up inside him when Blur was gone.

**LINE**

Tom was reading a book by candlelight in his room, absorbing the words carefully yet quickly. It had been two months since Blur had disappeared yet again, but still, Tom missed her. He didn't know why, but maybe because she was the only person in the world who wasn't repulsed by him. That, and she _did _save Tom's life.

Tom turned a page, but didn't feel like understanding the wise words of Amelia Ventish, an accomplished physicist, anymore. He slammed the book shut and stared at the wall of the empty bed across from his own, mulling on past memories as he absent-mindedly placed the book on his bedside table.

He had a roommate before and his name was Billy Stubbs. He was an annoying, incompetent brat who always cried whenever he didn't get something he wanted. Tom personally despised him, but Mrs. Cole thought he was a bloody angel. After two months of enduring, Tom finally lashed out when Billy Stubbs ripped Tom's book out of his hands, stomped on it, and ripped most of its pages out, drooling on them and crumpling most in one of his temper tantrums. He got sent to the hospital that day, and Stubbs refused to admit who did it. Mrs. Cole suspected him, so... well, no _other _orphan stepped in his room ever again.

He sighed and blew his candle, watching as the smoke faded. He kicked off his slippers and went to sleep.

The next morning he was awoken by sharp raps on his door.

_KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!_

Sighing irritably, he pushed off the covers and dragged himself to the door. He twisted the doorknob open, and found himself staring at the mop of messy, raven-black hair he knew so well. That, and Mrs. Cole's stomach. He looked down to meet Blur's emerald green eyes, and he looked up to meet Mrs. Cole's dull blue.

"Mr. Riddle, this is Blur. She has a room just across from yours." Mrs. Cole said stiffly, beady eyes narrowed. Well, she certainly was a blunt woman. "Blur could ask for a tour, ask questions about several people and the orphanage itself. If you attack her, you would be severely punished."

"Yes, Mrs. Cole." Tom nodded, eyes flickering to Blur.

"Good." Mrs. Cole twisted her heel and left quickly. Blur turned to him with her unnaturally green eyes, and suddenly, Tom realized her eyes were darker than the usual emerald.

Strange, so they weren't an emerald green.

"Hello, Riddle," she spoke, a smile playing on her lips.

"So that was why you asked for the name I had given you mentally." Blur nodded, the smile turning into a faint smirk, before she shut the door. Tom sighed, grabbing his book. Things just got more interesting.

**LINE**

Avira Jay Potter entered her room, and wasn't surprised when an identical room to Riddle's showed up. After two graceful strides, she was in the center of the room and was sat on the floor cross-legged. She wandlessly and wordlessly placed wards around the room, to ensure she had a very, _very _private spot. Silencing wards, notice-me-not and all that were set up just for this room. When she was sure that the room was nearly nonexistent in everyone else's eyes, she laughed, and oh she laughed _hard, _her heart still beating furiously.

What do you do when you are faced by your parents' killer, who seemed to have de-aged? What do you do when you are forced to protect him, forced to speak in riddles with him, forced to live _across _from him? What do you do when you stare at dark empty eyes and realizing those could easily belong to you? What do you do when you are utterly lost in this slightly familiar world, thrust in a universe that centered around a would-be murderer when he turns fifteen or sixteen? What do you do when you know _everything _that will unfold, but couldn't do anything else, except _interfere directly? _

She had _no _idea how to deal with this. Not a single clue, she had. She had planned this for two months, made a perfect backstory, even made Riddle feel _intrigued _because of her! She had saved his life in the first meeting, asked how Riddle called her in the second meeting, then joined him in a bloody orphanage in the third! She had to _kill _Riddle, not get all comfy with him!

Avira breathed in and breathed out, grabbing her notebook. She might as well get some words written on paper. After all, she _was _allowed to have a nonviolent outlet, right? She paused, before taking out a pen and began scratching away.

As she wrote, her thoughts wandered. She had already talked to Ron and Hermione that day, and if she stopped denying it, it wasn't really a pleasant conversation...

_... Flashback... _

_The forest Avira was in teemed with life. Trees reaching twenty feet towered around her, their leaves dancing with the wind. A river was beside her, its crystalline water showing Avira as a five year old. Avira was sat on the soft green grass, clutching said grass with a loose grip, a deep black stone glinting in her other hand. She tossed it a few times in the air, the sun shining upon her as the wind picked up slightly. _

_Suddenly, two forms appeared. One had ginger red hair atop of his head, limbs gangly and the figure itself as a whole tall. Freckles decorated his face and surrounded his sharp nose, expression for once, impassive. His blue eyes didn't betray any emotion, and he wore dueling robes crafted from acromantula string, one of the best and lightest material used for robes. All of his facial muscles were relaxed, something Avira found nerve-wracking. _

Ron Weasley...

_The second figure had perfect white teeth lined up neatly, her brown hair bushy and wild, curls all over. She wasn't short, taller than Avira, even. No, not her height _now, _but in her... past life. She wasn't petite, by all means, but she wasn't obese. She had to maintain that body because of the war, Avira thought darkly. Her chocolate brown eyes were red, but at least a smile was on her face. Avira smiled at this girl, but attempted to smile at Ron, only for it to falter as he turned his cool gaze towards him. _

Hermione Granger...

_These two were her best friends, however, that was going to change if Avira didn't manage to fix this mess soon. Avira met Ron's eyes dead on and spoke, "Hi, Ron," When Ron didn't react, Avira bit her lip, showing vulnerability deliberately, before turning to Hermione. "Hi, 'Mione." _

_Hermione tried to pull Avira in a hug, but then Ron stopped her. Hermione looked angrily at Ron and slapped her arms away.. Tears slid down Hermione's cheeks. "Avira..." she murmured, dropping to her knees to meet Avira's eyes. Ron looked at the duo indifferently. "Ron!" Hemione urged. _

_"What do you want me to do, Granger?" snapped Ron. Hermione winced, and Avira unconsciously slid in front of Hermione as Hermione hugged her, pulling her closer. Avira could smell the flowery scent of her friend and unknowingly relaxed in Hermione's embrace. "Do you want me to _smile _at our murderer?"_

_"Ron! You know this isn't her fault!" Hermione cried. _

_"It's all her bloody fault!" Ron hissed. Avira winced, her canines sinking in her lip, blood shedding. "We're stuck like this _forever_, Hermione! We're messed up, and we can't fix ourselves. You heard what Potter said! If she succeeds, there's going to be another Hermione, another Ron, but they'll be _better, _because they don't have a war that they're trying to win! If she wasn't bloody _born, _I bet the Wizarding War wouldn't exist at all!" _

_Avira's vision blurred considerably during Ron's mini-speech. "Ron," Avira swallowed. "Mate, I-" _

_"Don't you _dare _'mate' me, Potter!" Ron narrowed his eyes in his rage. Avira gulped and shied away from Ron. He reminded him of her uncle, and he was bloody terrifying. She tried to hold his impassive façade, but she couldn't do much because _his best friend was staring at him with _those eyes maddeningsadangryaccusingeyes-_

_"Ron, that's enough!" Hermione grabbed the stone and tossed it to Avira, but Avira didn't will Ron to go away. She stared, emptily at the lake. Ron was right. It was all her fault. Maybe if she had succeeded in killing herself when she was ten, maybe if she had been killed by Voldemort, maybe if she had studied harder, Ron and Hermione would still be alive. _

_And so many others._

_Hermione spun her around and tilted her chin so her eyes could meet hers. "Avira Jay Potter, don't you dare start believing him! I know you're a great woman, and you will continue to be one. Avira, you're my best friend, I love you, don't ever forget that. Avira, you're the-" _

_"Stop feeding her lies!" screamed Ron. Avira's eyes deadened, and continued to stare at Ron's face, void of emotion. She grabbed the stone, flipped it three times. The last thing she said before Hermione's desperate face and Ron's angry expression faded, were the words, _

_"I'm sorry for not being dead." _

_... End Flashback... _

When Avira looked down, she read over what she had absent-mindedly written:

_The cold December night _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M I'M SORRY I'M SORRY _I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY **I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY **_**I'M SORRY-**

**_ I'M SORRY! _**

She really wasn't surprised when she saw teardrops on her paper.

"I'm sorry..."

**LINE**

For some reason, today, Tom felt really, really depressed.

Sigh.

It was one of _those _days again. The days where he'd feel so depressed, yet he can't find the reason why. It was, yet again, one of those days where he could just _snap _another person's neck, watching said person's head fall to the ground, blood surrounding it. He felt like leaving his room then killing Mrs. Cole. He oh so _hated _these days.

After a month, he had to go back to muggle primary school. Pfft. He already knew all that. Maybe that was the reason why, but Tom seriously doubted it. It was positively blazing hot in Tom's room, maybe that? No, he doesn't really mind the heat. Maybe it was because of Blur?

Ah, yes... Blur. Such an interesting little new puzzle for him. It was like learning circumference again, Tom sighed mentally. Although, being in the younger girl's presence more often than not excited him, sometimes Tom was wary of the girl. He doesn't know what she's capable of, and it made Tom grow wary of her sometimes. Never scared, never scared! Just... wary. Tom didn't know if this girl is an enemy or friend... yet. He planned to find out. He used the word "wary" too many times. No matter.

Still... Blur didn't feel like the source of his depression. Maybe depression wasn't really the right word.

Damn it. He now had a headache. This was _really _like studying circumference again.

Tom sighed, then stretched a bit, hearing the satisfactory crack of his bones. He needed to corner Blur and ask her why the hell she was here. That might take some planning, but Tom was willing to wait. After all, good things come to those who do.

_Great things come to those who don't! _Tom added, smirking. His alarm clock rang, and he groaned. He had to escort the brat to the mess hall. Ah, well.

**LINE**

Three sharp raps to a wooden door roused Avira from her sleep. She yawned, rubbing her eyes tiredly, wincing as three more knocks sounded. Swinging her legs off of the bed, she sleepily staggered towards the door, opening it gently. Behind the door stood Tom Marvolo Riddle in his grey, orphanage uniform. She blinked, having to look up _really _high to meet eyes with him. Damn her five year old self's height!

Riddle cleared his throat, a forced smile plastered on his face. "Mrs. Cole wishes for me to escort you to the mess hall."

Avira blinked and looked down at her blue pajamas. She might as well not state the obvious anymore; Riddle knows she isn't stupid. He'll connect the dots and realize why I don't have a uniform, she thought. She closed her door and nodded at Tom's general direction. "Alright," she agreed.

Tom nodded, repeating her actions previously. "Why did you come here, _Blur_? What did you _really _come here for?" Riddle asked, dark eyes impassively staring down at Avira's. Avira's heart skipped a beat in her fleeting feeling of fear, but she managed to decisively answer back.

"I came here for what I want, but not for what I need." she vaguely replied, smirking slightly. Riddle smirked back.

"But what is that you need, but do not want, _Blur?"_ Riddle asked instead. Avira's lips pursed. Hearing her alias being mocked wasn't essentially a bad thing, but she had to act the part. Riddle still didn't look like he believed her in the slightest.

"I already have everything I need." she chuckled as Riddle's eye twitched accidentally. "But if you really want to know... I didn't come here for food, water and/or shelter."

"Oh, really. That is quite... interesting," Riddle finally said, and Avira knew in that moment with just that simple sentence, she had already revealed so many things about herself. However, it was hardly unfair; by having this conversation, they were already risking almost everything. They both don't trust each other, but they were fine with that. Riddle seemed to have this calculating look pass over his face for just a small amount of time, but it quickly faded into nothingness the next second. Avira herself must've slipped from her mask a few times. Damn that Riddle.

"Shall we make the trek to the mess hall, Riddle?" drawled Avira. Riddle seemed to be none too happy not knowing where Avira picked up his name.

"We shall." he said, his hand slipping out of his pocket as a show of raw confidence. Not the kind of coolness you would get from a man stuffing his hand in his pocket, but more of the vibe when you see a man straight-backed with a small grin and his hands fixed to clasp at his back. The kind of feeling you would get from a leader.

As Riddle led them straight into the labyrinth constructed out of hallways, Avira started absorbing the feeling of the orphanage and the slight color changes in the walls, as well as memorizing the twists and turns in order to know the direction of the mess hall. That and to train her memory. She was _always _the forgetful one. As soon as the light grey turned to another completely darker shade, they had finally reached the canteen. Riddle pushed the door open with his long fingers positioned like he was going to impale the damned thing.

As soon as they did, however, conversation had reduced to soft chatter and quiet laughter, sounding very much like a coffee shop, just for a moment as heads turned. Some orphans scowled, some glared and some quickly turned their heads back when their eyes landed on Riddle. Riddle faced her. "Have you gained a... friend here already?" Riddle asked quickly. Avira decisively made up her mind and shook her head. Riddle pursed his lips. "Wait here. I'll get some food. Mashed potatoes or eggs?"

"Mashed potatoes," Avira answered, watching Riddle stand up to go get his food. Why would he ask her for advice on his food? And why did he make her wait here? Ah, screw it, Avira thought.

Suddenly Tom was back after a few moments, carrying two trays of food. Avira wouldn't blame him; the plates here were enough for a baby, and not a growing child. She stood up, ready to get her food.

"Where are you going?" Riddle asked curiously.

"To get my food," Avira shrugged. Riddle raised an eyebrow disbelievingly at her, pushing the second tray of mashed potatoes towards her. Avira raised _two _eyebrows, pointing towards the tray then towards herself. Riddle slowly nodded, as if talking to a small child. Avira sighed, sliding in front of Riddle and grabbing her tray. They ate, observing the other orphans and listening in conversations. Avira managed to figure out a few orphans' names, managed to deduce that Maria Bells and Stacey Gedsburg were part of the popular crowd and also managed to find out a few opinions of others about Avira and Riddle.

Apparently, they pitied her. They thought that she was just another helpless victim that was being lured in Riddle's snare. Avira found herself to be a little indignant about that, and feeling slightly underestimated. She wasn't _just _an innocent five year old, because why then would Riddle treat her like an equal, even if she was two years his junior?

Riddle, who probably also had listened in to the same conversations, discreetly hid a scowl, so only Avira could see. Avira frowned slightly. Why would Riddle let her see him project such an emotion on his face, when he was a-

Oh.

For a seven year old, he played the game well. The attack was subtle, but Avira wasn't going to lower her guard because Riddle appeared to be human.

Avira herself wanted to scowl. If she hadn't met him in her past life, she was sure she would've fallen for the trick.

"Listened in to their conversations, too?" Riddle murmured. Avira nodded. Riddle shook his head and sighed. "I'm afraid I'm the outcast in this orphanage; nobody really knows anything about me. They make up stories to try and solve the mystery that is I, although none are really true... or based on something solid." Avira wanted to just give up, snort and laugh right there, but then she remembered that if it was any other person, including that old coot Dumbledore, they would've believed him straight away. Sucks to be them, then, Avira thought idly.

"Why don't you tell the matron?" questioned Avira, but she already knew the answer, anyways. Riddle offered her a bitter smile.

"The matron chooses all the other orphans over me, including that brat Billy Stubbs," Riddle explained, his fists curling. "She believes them and not me. Besides... adults can't be trusted."

"They can't, can they?" Avira agreed, nodding ever so slightly. Avira truthfully did see the reasoning behind Riddle's statement of adults and their untrustworthiness; she too had experienced all that when he was his age and below. Well... in her past life, anyway. Could she even call it her past life? No matter.

The only thing in her mind was the fact that she needed to escape the mess hall and retire to her bedroom. She needed to construct a plan,- even though that was more of Riddle's forte than hers- a great plan, that will cover most of the things that needed to be covered. This plan would need time to be spun delicately and precisely. The fate of the Wizarding World rested in Tom's hands, her hands and this plan.

She didn't want to see it again in the state it was in before she left.

Avira stood up slowly, making sure she didn't seem as though she had a bright idea or had a sudden thought. "I need to head back to my room. I have something to fetch for Mrs. Cole." she lied.

Riddle raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyways. "You go ahead, then."

"Goodbye, Riddle." Avira tilted her head as to show acknowledgement. Just as she turned around, a pale hand swiftly grabbed her hand with a strong grip. Avira froze, turning to Riddle.

"One question," he said, voice void of emotion. "How do you know my name?"

Avira thought over it for a while, before laggardly sliding her hand off Riddle's now slack grip. "The Nargles told me." Avira smiled mysteriously, before laughing softly at Riddle's genuinely baffled face.

**LINE**

Avira bit her lip, crumpling the piece of parchment and shooting it at the overflowing bin. Sighing, frustrated, she crouched into a sitting position on the floor and ducked her head.

How the hell was she going to do this? She hadn't even gotten the first step right! She needed to think seriously, and not fabricate some plan that would take months to launch! She needed to make a plan that would go underway by at most two days later! She slouched and collapsed on the floor, groaning about her misfortune. At least she had the foresight to place silencing wards around the room.

Avira blinked, pondering on her next move. She sat up, then sat up straighter, deciding that she'd go with the "Patient Wolf Approach" as she liked to call it. Did she really need this plan? Yes, she did. What are the effects of this plan? Hopefully, Voldemort would fail to exist. What are the disadvantages? Her own happiness, but she didn't really care about her happiness. What are the advantages? _More lives will be bloody saved. _

Avira groaned again, lying back on the floor. She needed to do this crap, she _had _to. It was her responsibility; after all, she was the only bloody survivor left in the battlefield.

_Blood. _

_Bodies._

_Broken wands. _

_Dark sky. _

_Evil, cruel laughter. _

_Avada Kedavra green. _

Avira squeezed her eyes shut. Her thoughts were beginning to get jumbled. Breathing in and breathing out, she picked up her pencil and notebook. She'll have to try again, and again, and bloody again, because failure is just unfinished success.

**LINE**

Tom breathed in and breathed out, his hand curled into a fist in front of him. He was in the corridor that housed two very important rooms: his bedroom and Blur's. He was positioned in front of the girl's door, wondering why knocking turned so hard. He grumbled, his fist lowering slightly. What the bloody hell did he come here for, again?

Ah, yes, to interrogate her, his mind supplied helpfully. Tom nearly scowled at his own wording. In his opinion, he wasn't _interrogating _her, he was just... looking for answers. Blur just happened to be the one with the most of them. He steeled himself and knocked for what seemed to be the millionth time that day, when in truth, it was only the second.

The door was opened, and Tom once again had to look down to meet Blur's eyes. Blur raised her head and her eyebrows. "What is your business here, Tom Riddle?" she asked, phrasing her sentence as if they were professional. It was like a girl's attempt to address her ex-boyfriend without being reminded of their love. Tom cleared his throat.

"I am just here to ask questions... and to get honest and clear answers." Tom added, carefully wording his sentence. "May I get them?"

Avira looked at him oddly, before smirking, leaning against the doorway and crossing her arms., "You know the answer to that question, Riddle. Whether you get your wanted answers totally depends on the answerable or unwanted questions." A small part of Tom was irritated at the younger girl's words, but the other, bigger part of him was excited at this new puzzle, new challenge. He smirked.

"And shall the questions centering around your arrival be categorized under 'answerable'?" Tom inquired, already knowing the answer anyways. He was proven right when Blur spoke,

"They are expected... but unwanted. Go ahead and ask, though, because I may curl, twist and snip at the truth so much, no one would be able to see it anymore past all the words said. However, I will not lie."

Total silence met Blur's words, as Tom pondered on what she had just said. His lips curled. "Is that a challenge?" he asked for confirmation.

"No, it is but a statement." Blur replied.

"A statement of what, perhaps?" Tom countered. Blur smiled mysteriously.

"A statement of sorts." she said simply. "Any questions, sans those you had just asked?"

"Oh, I have many, but let's start with this simple, easy, obviously answerable one." Blur nodded, blushed and ushered Tom in the room, remembering the fact that they were just standing, talking to each other, with Blur standing inside her room with the door open and Tom just outside. As soon as Tom stepped in, she closed the door, but Tom swore he felt something like an easily breached barrier wash over him. Blur gestured for him to sit on her bed as she did so, and Tom gladly followed suite, a bit suspicious of said easily breached barrier. "Let's see..." he started anyways, mockingly tapping his chin as he "thought". "How did you manage to get in the orphanage?"

"I pretended I was an orphan that needed shelter, food and clothes. Of course, I am an orphan." she said. _But not an orphan that needed shelter, food and clothes, _Tom added smartly. Well, he had two options: one, slowly make the questions more vital, with a high chance of Blur not noticing or two, make the questions all easy, then jump at the one question he needed answered. Well, there was a third option, the option to increase Blur's disposition towards him, but have her answer all the easy questions to do so. Tricky, tricky.

"How do you know my name?" he went for that one instead of the original, "How do you know my name and what the hell do you want from me, woman?!" Tom thought the second one was better, but didn't want to push Blur away. Besides... at least he'll get a bloody honest answer this time instead of the "Nargles told me."

"Repeating questions, mhm?" Blur said evasively, but after a quick glare sent from Tom she spoke, "I think you do not wish to have the previous answer repeated." she said obviously.

Tom nodded sharply. "Of course." Blur smirked and grabbed a piece of yellowed paper-parchment, Tom corrected himself- and a quill. Where she got high quality items, he'll never know. Blur started scribbling something, scratching away at the poor piece of parchment, and Tom found himself a bit confused and intrigued. Blur finished after five minutes, and she handed the piece of parchment to him. Tom accepted it and read it over, eyebrows rising and rising as he continued to read.

_The name you have right now will never really be sang in songs_

_But that and the name of flights and form's and deaths are known by the strong_

_Names hold power, immeasurable power so we do not speak yours_

_But we all know the name you set yourself in our lore_

The poem sounded a bit riddle-ish, and a bit confusing and cut off. Tom was a bit disappointed that this was the only clue he had. He looked up. "You'll never give me a straight answer, will you, Blur?" He would never admit it, but Tom did not only feel disappointment at the prospect, but also _excited._

"That is correct. Also, you have until you're thirty-four years old to decode it." she said pleasantly. Tom's eyebrows shot upwards.

"Is it that hard to solve?" Tom questioned.

"Only you can answer that question." she responded matter-of-factly. "Next."

"Mhm..." Tom said thoughtfully. He turned to Blur and smiled, and by the look on Blur's face, it was totally unexpected. "What's your favorite color?"

Blur looked taken aback, but answered anyways. "Red. What's yours?"

"Green." He answered automatically. "When's your birthday?"

"July 31, and I'm two years your junior, in case you do not know." She answered easily. "Yours?"

"I assumed you know the answer to that question," Tom said bemusedly. "December 31, and I'm two years your senior." He answered anyways, although sarcasm was dripping from his words in the latter part of his sentence. Tom tucked a stray curl behind his ear and his eyes flashed. "Thank you for speaking to me today, Blur. I shall see you in the mess hall tomorrow."

Tom left without another word passing his lips, before he shut the door, he swore he heard a quiet, "Goodbye, Riddle."

**Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review! Seriously need the comments for inspiration, for realizing with dawning horror my mistakes and all that! Any suggestions? Questions? Jot them down in a review! *eye twitches dangerously***

**Tom: *rolls eyes* She is _obsessed _with reviews, I tell ya. **

**Avira: Bugger off, Riddle, she's just excited. She also had a tad bit of hot chocolate... **

**Me: H-ho-HOT CHOCOLATE! *falls over twitching* **

**Tom: *hisses* Yeah... she needs some help. **

**Avira: BEEP BAP BOOP BOOP BEEP! Bye! Leave a review for Prayde's sanity.**


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